Garrison didn’t like that idea at all, but Seth wore a hopeful expression.
Iswander continued. “And unlike the lava-processing facility on Sheol, these are just simple ekti operations. Despite the volatility of the bloaters, we have solid safety procedures in place. It’s all perfectly safe.” He seemed pleased to have solved the problem.
Then alarms began to ring. Sensor screens in the admin deck lit up, and the ops crewmembers hurried to respond.
Elisa snapped, “I bet he led someone here! Who is it, Garrison? Roamers? CDF? Mercenaries?”
“I came alone.”
Wide-eyed, Seth stood close to his father. Then with a yelp he pawed at his pocket and yanked out a small vial—the sample of wental water Jess and Cesca had given him. Now it glowed bright, flaring with a pale blue illumination. “It’s hot and cold at the same time!”
He let go of it and stared down at his tingling fingers. The vial fell gradually in the module’s minimal gravity. The contained wental light flared bright, then went out like a snuffed candle just before the vial clinked onto the deck and bounced back up in a slow ricochet.
One of the sensor techs hunched over a screen. “This doesn’t make any sense! The stars are disappearing—it’s like a crack in space. A dark nebula.”
Garrison’s eyes widened. Through the broad windowports of the admin module, he watched a shadow cloud unfold as something emerged—huge, black hexagonal cylinders, like ebony crystals extruded from a poisoned seed of night. Having seen the report of the disastrous CDF engagement at Plumas, he knew exactly what this was.
“Please listen to me this time, Mr. Iswander! You have to evacuate,” Garrison said. “That’s a shadow cloud. The Shana Rei. The last one devastated both the CDF and the Solar Navy, then crushed the entire ice moon of Plumas, wiped out clan Tamblyn’s water mines there. They’ll do the same here!”
More alarms sounded throughout the ekti-extraction facilities. The dark nebula expanded, exploding blackness across space.
ONE HUNDRED AND TWELVE
ANTON COLICOS
From the thousands of revealed documents in the Vault of Failures, Anton hoped he could gain some insight into the Shana Rei. This new chamber definitely showed great promise. The sheer number of weapons and experiments the normally stodgy Ildirans had tried when they first faced the creatures of darkness indicated just how terrible an enemy the Shana Rei must be.
In the hours after the war-strategy meeting, he and Dyvo’sh returned to the newly unsealed chamber, where a special table had been set up for them in the anteroom of the main vault. Piles of sorted documents waited for his inspection, and the light from blazers reflecting off the crystal sheets was bright, enough to make Anton’s eyes hurt.
Inside the expanded Vault of Failures, five rememberers continued to inventory and triage the ancient, fragile documents from sealed shelves. There were countless records scribed by scientist kith, warrior kith, lens kith, medical kith, describing defensive systems, test results—everything the ancient Mage-Imperator Xiba’h had tried during his most desperate times before he chose his final solution. They knew about the sun bombs, but nothing else had proved effective. Now, the Solar Navy would reassess all these records and discuss with the various powerful Ildiran kiths that might help, but Anton had higher hopes that the CDF could take the designs and run with them. Something had to work.
Three ferocious-looking guard kith stood just inside the vault. Anton hated having the guards looming there all the time, but Yazra’h insisted on extra security after the attempted assassination of Nira. Yazra’h had always been overprotective of him, but he supposed he couldn’t blame her.
Yazra’h and her ever-present protégée Muree’n arrived at the Vault of Failures, to find out if there had been any results and also to check on him. Anton was alarmed to see that both women sported obvious bruises. “Did you get into another fight?”
“We got into training,” Yazra’h said with a laugh.
Anton frowned. “It doesn’t inspire much confidence to see that my special bodyguards are battered and bruised before any danger even occurs.”
With all seriousness, Muree’n said, “I apologize for damaging her.”
Yazra’h arched her eyebrows. “These few scuffs only loosened me up.” She glanced down at the stack of crystal sheets, though she had never shown any real interest in reading. “Ildirans tried those ideas already. We need new ones.”
“Sometimes failures show us how to succeed. They might spark new concepts.”
Muree’n’s response was gruff. “I would rather succeed the first time. I’m not afraid to fight.”
Yazra’h grasped the younger girl by the shoulder. “Neither of us is afraid, but we do not want to waste our efforts. I am confident Rememberer Anton will find a way for us to strike a mortal blow.”
Anton lifted a crystal sheet. “It may be in here somewhere. The team inside the vault is organizing all of those old records.”
Dyvo’sh spoke up, “We should request more rememberers to be assigned to the task.”
Muree’n looked approvingly at the young assistant. “It will be done—if I have to drag them here myself.”
Anton said, “Oh, I think they’ll come without having to be dragged. There may not be much time, if the Shana Rei are increasing their attacks.”
Osira’h and Prince Reyn joined them, and Anton greeted the young man, remembering his last visit to Theroc. “Prince Reyn—I mean, Reyn. Sorry I haven’t had a chance to welcome you on your visit, despite my best intentions. This task is all-consuming.” He gestured into the vault, where five rememberers removed archive after archive from the dusty shelves and sorted them into ever-growing piles. “I can’t believe the worldforest has no clear knowledge of the Shana Rei, if the ancient war was so terrible. Any hints, Reyn?”
“I . . . I am not a green priest.”
Suddenly Anton heard a clatter of crystal plaques, then loud crashing sounds from inside the vault. Oddly, the three intimidating guards at the entrance stood immobile and uncaring. They did not react even as the racket continued.
Anton stepped into the doorway to see that the five rememberers had stopped their meticulous cataloguing. Instead, they yanked fragile crystal sheets by handfuls from alcoves and shelves, and without speaking, smashed one document after another onto the floor.
“What the hell? Those are priceless historical records!” Anton bounded into the vault, and an astonished Dyvo’sh rushed in after him. The armed guards remained frozen, as if in a trance.
Anton grabbed one rememberer by the shoulder, trying to stop him from destroying more crystal sheets. The Ildiran looked at him with eerily blank eyes. Dropping the stack of records, he placed his hand against Anton’s chest and shoved with surprising strength. Anton was hurled against the wall, knocking down even more crystal sheets. Blackness swam around his eyes. He shook his head, tried to focus.
He heard shouts from the anteroom. At the vault doorway, one of the three guard kithmen finally began to move, drawing his crystal katana and marching toward Anton. He yelped and rolled out of the way as the guard thrust a crystal spear at him, missed, and then stabbed again.
Suddenly the guard froze, jittering, as a jagged blade sprouted from the center of his chest. His katana fell from limp fingers.
Yazra’h yanked her weapon out of the attacking guard’s back and shoved his body to the ground. “Rememberer Anton, keep yourself safe!”
Dazed and in pain, he tried to fight his shock. What was happening? “I . . . I’ll do my best.”
The other two guards swayed, then turned with a singular focus toward Osira’h and Reyn in the anteroom. Reyn grabbed Osira’h’s arm and drew her behind the meager shelter of the small table.
Yelling, Muree’n threw herself at the two guards, but the nearer one backhanded her with incredible strength. Her reflexes jerked her head backward, and she barely avoided a blow that would have snapped her neck, but struck her shoulder instead. She crashed ha
rd onto the floor and skidded against the wall with a cry more of indignation than of pain.
The two possessed guards lunged toward Osira’h and Reyn again, obviously intending to kill them. But Osira’h drew herself up and seemed to armor herself with her own strength and telepathy. Her eyes were wide, pearlescent, and she stared at the guards with tangible force. Her jaw clenched, her teeth ground together, and she forced words between them. “I have brought hydrogues and faeros to their knees—I can stop you!”
One of the two guards reeled away, as if derailed, but the other stood anchored, pressing himself forward as if against a hurricane. He inched closer, raising his katana. Osira’h strained, until the blood vessels stood out on her temples, on her neck.
With a wordless cry, Reyn shot forward, waist bent, head low, and rammed the guard at waist level, knocking him backward. The kithman clattered to the floor, his weapon skimming aside. The guard flailed, as if he couldn’t control his muscles. Reyn staggered, caught his balance again.
Inside the vault, the other possessed rememberers were sluggish and no match for Yazra’h when she dove among them. In moments she was spattered with blood.
Panting, Anton wondered if he had broken a rib or two when the rememberer hurled him against the wall. He’d never broken a rib before. Anton had heard about the inexplicable flashes of violence against Nira, but he couldn’t understand why any rememberer would destroy history!
Again, sounds of fighting came from the anteroom. “Go save them,” he told Yazra’h. “I’ll be safe here with Dyvo’sh.”
As if in a trance, Dyvo’sh bent over the body of the first dead guard. He looked stunned.
In the anteroom, Muree’n threw herself back at a possessed guard, snatching his katana from the floor and driving it into his chest. The long crystal blade snapped off in his sternum.
The remaining guard came to himself for a moment, fighting with an invisible force. His eyes flashed, and he held on to the staff of his katana as if wrestling with a demon. Directing an anguished gaze at Osira’h, Reyn, and Muree’n—all of whom he was supposed to protect—he righted the katana staff, pressed the butt end against the floor. In a brief moment of triumph, he launched himself forward—onto the katana blade, snapped the shaft, and collapsed to the ground.
Still breathing heavily and leaning against the vault wall, Anton turned to Dyvo’sh to ask if he had suggestions. But when his young assistant rose from the dead guard’s body, his eyes were blank, and he held the crystal dagger he had yanked from the armor. Dyvo’sh’s face was a placid mask, yet he raised the crystal dagger and slashed.
Anton dodged, felt a sharp pain in his back and side—indeed, he must have broken some ribs—and Dyvo’sh drove in again, trying to stab him. Anton deflected a blow from the dagger with a crystal document sheet, and the document shattered in his hand.
Yazra’h bounded back into the vault to protect Anton. She swung her bloody katana before he could yell for her to wait. He cried out in anguish as her razor-edged blade cleaved Dyvo’sh nearly in half, and his young assistant fell dead on the cluttered floor.
Anton was horrified and confused, unable to understand any of this. “You didn’t have to kill him! It wasn’t his fault. He wasn’t in control.”
She stood over his assistant’s body, satisfied but not triumphant. “I know that, Rememberer Anton, but he was tainted. They were all tainted.”
Muree’n entered the vault to stand next to her. “We would never have been able to trust them again. They were vulnerable.” The girl looked exhausted as well. Her mane of hair was wet with splashed blood.
Reyn and Osira’h joined them, both covered with red spray as well. Osira’h said, “The Shana Rei must have invaded through the thism. They found these weak points, these people, and controlled them. Made them try to kill.”
Yazra’h faced Anton. She had always been haughty and overconfident, not affected by anything. He had never seen such a depth of emotion on her face as he saw now.
“Rememberer Anton, I cannot protect you anymore—not against threats like this. You must leave Ildira. Go with the King and Queen when they return to Theroc.” She cocked her head toward Osira’h and Reyn. “You too, Prince Reynald. You must all go.”
ONE HUNDRED AND THIRTEEN
ORLI COVITZ
Orli had never felt such despair. After Tom Rom left her in the Proud Mary, she fumbled with the med kit and slapped a pad of coagulant gauze on the inside of her arm where he’d been so rough taking his blood and tissue samples.
Her mind was filled with recriminations. She never should have given him the chance to come near her. She knew that Tom Rom was a relentless extremist, and he had explained what he wanted from her. She should have taken the time to rig her ship for self-destruct when he’d first started to pursue her.
BO and the other clan Reeves compies in the derelict city had been so brave. DD would have been just as brave. The thought of sending a final message to Rlinda, of delivering all that valuable scientific data—those had just been excuses. Excuses! And now that madman was in possession of the deadly alien plague. She had clung to a last few days of life, and now that decision might cost billions of lives if the disease ever got loose.
She hauled herself to the cockpit, barely able to stay on her feet, and collapsed into the pilot chair. She stared across the shadowed crater and watched the lights on the other ship brighten as Tom Rom went back inside with his prize. The stardrive engines glowed, and with a graceful leap the ship lifted from the crater floor and rose away from the asteroid. It ducked over the foreshortened horizon and streaked off, dwindling until it became lost among the other stars.
Orli slumped back, sobbing. Tom Rom was gone. He had vials of the plague. What sort of twisted employer would take such extraordinary actions to obtain a deadly microorganism, if he or she had no intention of using it? A collector?
It was too late.
She heard the outer airlock door activate and the hatch slide aside. Instantly alert, she scrambled for her hand jazer . . . but Tom Rom had taken the weapon as well. Orli felt yet another degree of helplessness. But when the inner hatch opened, it was only DD stepping into the main compartment.
The compy looked scuffed and covered with grit from tumbling against the crater wall and then trudging across the loose crater floor. His polymer body was also smudged with soot and charred lubricant from his repair work on the Proud Mary.
She nearly collapsed with relief, and he seemed just as pleased to see her. “Orli, I am so glad that man didn’t kill you. I was concerned.”
“He didn’t need me dead because the plague is going to kill me in another few days. Maybe he left me alive because he knows there’s absolutely nothing I can do about him. Bastard!”
She lifted herself from the pilot chair and staggered over to the compy like a little girl seeking comfort. She needed DD like this more often than she wanted to remember, and he had always been there to soothe her. The last time she’d cried on his shoulder was when Matthew had told her he was leaving. Now, that seemed like such a trivial thing to cry about.
Seeing her sway on her feet, DD met her halfway, put his polymer-coated arms around her waist, and hugged her close. Her tears now flowed in full streams. “It’s all right, DD. You tried. Don’t feel guilty that you couldn’t stop him.”
“Would this be a good time for me to tell you good news, Orli?” DD said.
She sniffled and laughed, but it was an odd almost hysterical sound. “Yes, now would be a good time for that.”
“You instructed me to stop Tom Rom. You told me to find any way. I was not able to fight him physically. So I found another way.”
Orli stared at the compy. “What did you do?”
“Earlier, you had me download the full module of starship engine design and principles. While Tom Rom was in here with you, I accessed his ship’s engines from outside and made several important modifications to them.”
Orli blinked. “You . . . sabotaged his shi
p?”
“According to my context database, ‘sabotage’ has negative connotations. I believe what I did was a good thing. Once he took off, a silent timer was activated that will build a feedback loop in the exhaust system and pipe the heat back into his ekti-reactor chamber. Once the process begins, he cannot stop it. I believe I succeeded in locking his diagnostic sensors so they will continue to display optimal readings, regardless of the actual measurements. The overload should be well under way by the time he detects anything out of the ordinary.”
Orli felt dizzy. Her head pounded, and she hoped she wasn’t hallucinating. “What will that do? Will it shut down his engines? Strand him in space?”
“No, Orli, it will cause the engines to explode. His ship and everything aboard will be sterilized. Including the plague vials.”
Orli couldn’t believe what she had heard. “So the explosion will kill him?”
“That would be the obvious consequence of the ship vaporizing.”
“How did your programming even allow you to consider that? Your core routines don’t allow you to harm a human.”
“It was an extreme conundrum, Orli, but I ran an analysis of the situation. My core programming forbids me to harm a human. These strictures also require that I not allow a human to come to harm through my own inactions. In the end, I was able to apply context. If I allowed Tom Rom to escape with viable samples of a disease that is known to be one hundred percent fatal to human beings, I concluded that my inaction would result in far more deaths than my action would. I did the calculations and I made the proper choice.”
Orli went back into her piloting chair and collapsed into it. She felt as if her bones had turned to water.
DD came to stand beside her chair. He looked concerned, even shy. “Did I do a good job, Orli?”
She laughed with relief. “Yes, DD. You did a good job.”
ONE HUNDRED AND FOURTEEN
TOM ROM
Tom Rom never patted himself on the back to celebrate his own success. He did a job and took satisfaction in his work, glad that he had not let Zoe down. He would never let her be disappointed in him.
The Dark Between the Stars Page 55